TDI: Heroes
by Matrion515
Summary: Major AU based on Heroes. Gwen dreams of ice, while Trent can't sleep at all. Chris runs for office, as Cody runs for his life. Nothing is simple and not everything is as it seems, especially in the shadow of the Company. Not a crossover.
1. Genesis

_**Disclaimer: I do not own TDI or Heroes. I am not making money off of this.**_

_**TDI: Heroes**_

_**Episode 1: Genesis**_

_Where does it come from—this quest, this need to solve life's mysteries when the simplest of questions can never be answered? Why are we here? What is the soul? Why do we dream? Perhaps we'd be better off not looking at all. Not delving, not yearning. But that's not human nature. Not the human heart. That is not why we are here.-Mohinder Suresh_

_--_

_Gwen Grayson_

_New York City, NY_

_It was dark. She was dreaming. There was a sound. Dripping? Water. Yes. No, melting ice. Then, there comes a cold shiver through her body. The air chills around her. Cold, so cold. The cold forms. A person? A girl. She's cold. So cold. _

"_Poor little girl." She says, and her voice is ice, her breath is ice, she is ice. _

_A yell. Someone's yelling for her. Looking for her. She knows who it is. Not yet. Who is it? She tries to turn, but no. She can't. It's cold. Too cold. She's frozen._

Gwen jolted out of bed, shivering softly, her eyes blank and white. Unconsciously (consciously?) she fumbles for her sketchpad on the bedside table and almost rips open the box of colored pencils next to him. She grabs a double-sided one. Black and blue. Ice blue.

She straightens up and her hands fly over the page. She draws furiously, never pausing, never checking if it was accurate because it was, it always was. The drawing was beginning to take shape, take form, her form (so cold.)

There is a sharp intake of breath as Gwen is released from her trance, her eyes fading from white to black, and her hands go limp as she falls back into bed, asleep again. Peaceful, this time, no dreams would wake her up again tonight.

The pencil falls to the floor, and the sketchbook soon after, though if Gwen hears this she doesn't take note of it. The picture is beautiful, yet eerily haunting. It is of a young woman smirking with cold, dead eyes. She is breathtaking yet horrible for ice seems to radiate from her, on her, outward. And on the wall, on the ice, there are dark spots that look remarkably like blood.

There is a mumbling from the bed. Not a new dream, remembrance of the last one. Three words, that she wouldn't remember saying in the morning, come from her lips.

"Who are you?" she whispers, and only silence answers.

--

_Trent Moretti _

_New York City, NY_

An hour later, as Gwen Grayson sleeps peacefully in her bed, done dreaming, at least for now, Trent Moretti has been lying awake listening to the world outside his bed, where he's been all night. He's been listening to any sound, every sound.

Trent is awake not because the sounds are loud; he's awake because the sounds are there. He's awake because there are too many sounds, over too many nights, being fed into him. He isn't hearing sound anymore, he's feeling it. And he can't sleep as a result.

Trent lets out a groan and sits up in bed, trying hard to will the sounds away, and succeeding, just a little. He's still feeding on them, he can't stop that, but at least he isn't feeling them anymore.

"What's happening to me?" he mutters. Thinking that he's feeding on sound. Maybe he's going insane. Whoop-de freaking do. Chris'd get a kick out of that, huh? Little cousin Trent going completely insane. Great.

He rubs his eyes with his arm blearily and stretches, banging his arm against the wall in the process. Suppressing a cry of pain he sighed and rubbed his arm nine times. There. All better. Nine always made things better.

Trent yawned and shuffled his was towards the kitchen where his timed coffee pot wouldn't be making coffee until six-thirty, i.e. in another hour or so. He made his way over to the machine and started a pot early, jumping a little as the housewarming present from his cousin beeped loudly.

Spotting the remote on the counter, Trent flipped on the TV a few feet away in the living room. There was another, higher-pitched noise that Trent steeled himself for as the TV blinked on, revealing the smiling face of Gail Coleman, the local meteorologist.

"There's no way you're going to be missing this unless you're the kind of person who sleeps in the middle of day." Gail chirped happily, Trent didn't have the slightest idea what she was talking about, but he would listen anyway. "Today's eclipse will be seen all over the world, throughout the entire U.S. and I heard you can even see it in Japan!"

Eclipse? He hadn't heard of any eclipse today. Oh well, he was hearing about it now. At least eclipses didn't make much noise.

"In other news, New York senatorial candidate Christopher Maclean is scheduled to have brunch with his family today." The anchorwoman, Deliah Cruz, reported. "Our very own Bethany Harris will be given the exclusive interview."

Wait, brunch? Chris was having brunch? With his family? The only family Chris had was… Chris was going to force him to have brunch with him in front of reporters. Great. Just great.

"This just in, a local man died in the hospital after jumping off a building yelling that it was quote 'His turn to be somebody,'" the anchorman, the oh-so-handsome Markus James. "The man was apparently very deranged and suffered from numerous mental illnesses…" James continued.

Trent tuned him out as he fumed against his cousin. As the coffee machine beeped in signal of his beverage being done, which almost went unnoticed by Trent, if not for his newly found sensitivity to sounds. He grabbed a mug, poured in some coffee hurriedly and slowly gulped it down before making his way towards his door, intent on refusing to eating brunch today.

Trent stopped and looked down at himself, still in his green pajama bottoms and nothing else. He would go see Chris after he got dressed.

--

_Lindsay Bailey and Tyler Hunt_

_Paris, France_

"Bonjour Howard! Cava?" Lindsay cried out as she barreled into the café, placing two kisses on her French friend's cheeks in greeting. She was dressed in a white tanktop with the words 'Je suis Canadienne! Je ne parle pas francaise!" imprinted on it in spiraling gold script, a short, but not too short, denim skirt, and designer sunglasses perched in her hair.

"Oui, cava." The young man answered. "And my name is Henri, Lindsay." He smiled at his American friend; she had been coming into his café every day for the last two months, despite the fact that she was only supposed to be in France for one.

"I'm learning more and more French every day, Hugh, I finally got 'Bonjour!'" she said, flapping her arms around animatedly. "Oh, and I found you the cutest little nail polish in this cute little boutique run by this cute little old couple!" She paused for a moment before realizing something. "Oh! I forgot Trevor!" she cried, earning a glare from some of the patrons of the café, but Henri waved it off.

"Lindsay I don't wear nail polish…" Henri started, but was cut off as Lindsay burst out the door and then returned with her boyfriend, laden with shopping bags, as usual, in tow.

Tyler Hunt, dressed in jeans and a shirt with the same script as Lindsay's but long sleeved, and red with white script, was looking decidedly uncomfortable with four shopping bags on each arm, two boxes nestled between his arms, and Lindsay pulling him by his shirt collar. He nodded a greeting to Henri, who nodded back, and turned to Lindsay.

"Where do you get all the money for this?" Henri asked in wonderment.

"What?" Lindsay looked confused for a minute, and cocked her head from side to side. "I don't know, actually. Whenever Terry's not around, I just ask how much it is, and they give it to me for free! I thought everyone was doing that because they thought I was single."

Henri glanced at Tyler, who grimaced a little, and made the best attempt he could as a shrug. It appeared he didn't know either.

"Look at the time, we have to go if we wanna catch the eclipsey thingy from up on the hotel roof!" Lindsay exclaimed grabbing her boyfriend and waving goodbye to Henri. "Salut Harvey!" she yelled as she dragged Tyler out the door.

Henri just stood there shaking his head, not noticing the large black man slipping out of his café after them. Nor did he notice the short, sadistic chuckle he gave off as he left.

--

_Odessa, Texas_

_Izzy Montecito and Cody Marshall_

"Can you at least tell me where were going, Izzy?" Cody called as he struggled to keep up with his strange friend. The pair was running (well, Izzy was running, Cody was more jog-walk-tripping) through a large empty field near an old used-up oil drilling place.

Cody was huffing as he watched his feet to avoid falling over; when he noticed Izzy had stopped running. They had reached the edge of the drilling station which had become a haven for trash and broken down machines over time. She was standing on top of what Cody thought used to be a washing machine with her arms folded, waiting for him.

"This is the farthest away place with this many machines Izzy could think of, and she needed to bring Cody here." Izzy finally said when he reached her.

"What?" Cody was confused. A place with machines. What was she-no. No, she couldn't know, could she?

"Oh, Izzy knows, Cody. Izzy knows." Izzy smiled wide at her friend as his gap-toothed jaw fell open.

"How did you find out?" Cody said after a second of silence. He didn't understand. He was sure to be careful. He didn't want to be found out. To be dissected.

"Izzy knows because she's like you." Izzy answered. "If you're gonna get dissected, she would have to, too."

"How did-"

"I can read your mind," Izzy interrupted. "You should learn how to think quieter. You're so loud! I mean, the only time I heard thoughts louder than you was when I went to this restaurant and there was this guy who wouldn't stop talking so loudly that his thoughts were all projecting. He was all like, I wanna bang this one after that one before this one while I'm doing that one. He was all piggy and loud. Oink! Oink!" Cody just stared at his oinking friend.

"Well?" Izzy asked expectantly.

"Well what?"

"Aren't you going to show me what you can do?" Izzy stared at Cody like he was the stupidest creature on Earth. "Geeeez! Do I have to tell everyone everything? Everyone's always like Izzy, you're so smart, why don't you already know these things Izzy? Or how do you know these things Izzy? Or do you have a criminal record Izzy?"

"Ahem." Cody cleared his throat, and Izzy noticed he was kneeling on the ground, his hand to the washing machine. Cody closed his eyes and bit his lip in concentration and the light on the washing machine turned on and it started shaking and sucking in air, trying to start the next laundry cycle.

A nearby lawnmower revved to life, not moving, for it had lost its wheels a long time ago. A TV with a cracked screen hiccupped for a second, showing the smiling face of former reality television host turned politician Chris Maclean before reverting to static. A toaster dinged popping out a family of toasted spiders. A microwave a few feet away from it overloaded and caught on fire. Cody took his hand off the machine and smiled sheepishly as Izzy watched in wonder before taking off and grabbing a long wooden pole with the intent to chuck it into a whirring blender twenty yards away.

Cody admired his work and glanced at Izzy, smiling his gap-toothed smile in pride. She was a very odd girl, but at least she wouldn't try to dissect him.

--

_Noah King_

_Costa Verde, CA_

"So what would you recommend I do my paper on, Professor?" Noah drawled, looking at the older man intently.

"Oh, I don't know! Anything! Just don't write a paper on how stupid you think your generation is!" the professor huffed, thinking. Noah King was bright and very talented for a junior in high school, but he left a lot to be desired. "What's that book you have there under your arm?"

Noah glanced at the large, blue-covered book under his arm. "Activating Evolution by Chandra Suresh." He answered, closing his eyes in thought. "Yes, that would be a very interesting topic. I'll do it."

"What?" the professor sputtered. "I've heard about that Suresh and his crackpot theories! You would do better doing your report on something else, it will be better for your credibility!"

"I've decided already." Noah stood firm. "Or would you rather I turn in my original paper?"

"No! No!" The professor waved his arms in front of him. "Activating Evolution it is then. Just don't get too obsessed with the topic. You'll go mad."

Noah said nothing as the professor sat back down at his desk, and instead waited until he was outside to reply. He glanced down at Activating Evolution and smirked. "Ah. But were all mad here, Alice."

--

_Beth Harris and Zeke McGovern_

_New York City, NY_

Bethany Harris was young, but she was on her way to being the next anchorwoman. She was a bright, inquisitive young woman who had a knack for getting people to open up to her.

Six months ago she had just been an intern making copies and running Delilah Cruz's 'Extra-foam, but not too much foam. A lot of whipped cream, but I don't want to get fat. And I want it to taste like cinnamon.' Latte. Now she was interviewing Christopher Maclean who, six months ago was just a reality television host (who she admittedly had a crush on) and now he was the frontrunner to become the next New York senator.

"Are you ready Zeke?" she asked her driver/photographer ecstatically.

"Ready as I'll ever be, eh." Zeke had been her photographer in college and she had picked him to be her photographer now. He was always reliable, if a little socially awkward, and he took great pictures. Plus, she considered him a friend, and it was always nice to work with a friend.

"I turn left here, eh?" Zeke asked as he gently stopped the van at a stop sign.

"No, I think you turn right." Beth answered, kind of confusedly.

"Right?" Zeke scratched his nose, he was aching to pick it, but he was in front of a lady, and he had always been taught to respect women.

"Or was it left?"

"Where do we go, eh?" Zeke asked.

"Whatever! We have plenty of time! Just go left and see what happens!" Beth replied happily.

"Okey-dokey, captain."

--

_Chris Maclean, Trent Moretti and Courtney Munroe_

_New York City, NY_

Chris wasn't at all surprised when Trent Moretti came bursting through his front door, fuming, glaring at him and preparing to launch obscenities at him the moment he saw if there were reporters there or not. It was the way things worked in their family. Chris would drag Trent into some stupid and costly misadventure that ended up injuring Trent is some way and Trent would fume and glare at him until he ran out of steam (usually from the comfort of the Minor Injuries Clinic.)

Courtney Munroe, as Chris's new assistant, was. Admittedly she should have known something like this would happen considering who Chris was and his habit of pissing people off for pure amusement.

So when Trent Moretti arrived, paused for a moment and began cursing Chris out for three minutes straight, for some reason fluctuating all the other sounds in the room so it seemed like all the sound it the room was being delivered in a Chris-bashing hate rant, Courtney was a little more then surprised.

Luckily, the politician in training was trained in the arts of calm, cool, and collective. Which resulted in this:

"Um, excuse me," Courtney tapped Trent's shoulder as he sat down on an armchair with his eyes closed, calm, counting to nine. "But, who in the hell are you?"

There was a pause of two seconds (Trent was only at four when she talked to him) and Trent finally spoke. "I'm Trent Moretti." He replied. "I'm that guy's," he pointed his thumb at the hallway, where Chris was in the bathroom fixing his hair. "Younger cousin. I'm the only family he's got. He didn't tell me we were brunching today. Sorry if I startled you, um, who are you?"

Courtney blinked. He was Trent Moretti. She should have known that. She was supposed to be Chris Maclean's assistant. "I'm, um, Courtney. Courtney Munroe. I'm Mr. Maclean's new assistant."

"New assistant? What happened to…you know what never mind, I can guess." Trent yawned as Courtney, quickly realizing that was the end of the conversation, pulled out an Instinct and quickly snapped a picture of Trent for future use. His eyes were closed, of course.

"Yo! Where's that reporter lady?!" Chris sauntered out of the bathroom, bored. "I wanna get my brunch on."

"She's not here yet Mr. Maclean." Courtney answered, racing to her boss's side.

"For the last call me Chris. Mr. Maclean was…Trent, whose last name did I take again?"

Trent rolled his eyes, Chris may be a politician, but he really wasn't very smart. "Grandpa Kline's." He replied.

"Yeah, him."

There was an awkward silence when the doorbell rang. Chris quickly opened it, putting on his best smile so he could fool the reporter into thinking he was a somewhat respectable man.

"Oh, hello!" Beth stepped into the room, a sheepish grin on her face, Zeke trailing close behind. "Sorry were late, we got a little lost. Um, should we start the brunch?"

"Yes, of course." Chris said suavely, kissing Beth's hand. "Right this way, Courtney, Trent." The four followed the politician that magically transformed from Chris Maclean. This was senator hopeful Christopher Maclean, now.

He led them to the patio where a nice spread, kept warm by money, lay in wait. There were eggs, bacon, hash browns, and all other kinds of brunch-like foods. As they all sat down Trent helped himself to three waffles, careful to divide each into nine pieces.

"Now, shall we get this interview started?" Chris asked flashing a smile at Beth and at Zeke, who was the only one not sitting, being the cameraman, and all.

"All right then," Beth agreed after finishing up a piece of toast. "You said this was a brunch with your family, Mr. Maclean, but there are only two other people here with us, why is that?"

"Well, this is with my family. Trent here," Chris motioned to his cousin, who managed a tentative smile. "Is my only surviving relative. He's my cousin. Ms. Munroe is my assistant. I like to consider her part of my family as well."

Courtney suppressed both a giggle and a gag at that. Her new boss was rather good at leading along a young reporter like Ms. Harris. She also knew that she would rather not be related to a man such as Christopher Maclean.

"You only have one relative still alive?" Beth inquired. "This is the first time I've heard of that."

"Really? It's common knowledge." Chris quickly retorted. "I'm surprised you didn't know,"

"I didn't actually." Beth smiled. "What happ-"

Beth was cut off when the Trent dropped his fork on his empty platter. He forcefully got up from the table, casting a glare at Chris. Then, he made his way towards the front door, counting his steps all the way. One…two…three…twenty-three three steps and three sets of nine later the door slammed loudly, causing the silverware to shake slightly in reverberation.

"What was that?" Beth asked voicing the thoughts of the other three people at the table.

Chris stood there for a second, his brow furrowed in worry, but relaxed and waved his hand. "Trent's a little touchy. He'll be fine." He said, and suddenly everyone felt better. They felt calm.

--

Trent ignored the looks he was attracting as he made his way, nine steps of course, over to the curb, hailing a taxi as he counted his breaths in sets of nine. A few seconds later (Trent ignored the fact that it wasn't nine seconds) a taxi pulled up on the curb.

Sliding in, Trent noted that the taxi driver was a young black man, a little older than him, perhaps twenty-five. Glancing at his license, he noticed his name was D.J. Daniels. The photo of the man was rather strange, as there was a bunny perched on his head, but a look over to the driver confirmed it was the same man.

"Where to?" D.J. asked good-naturedly. He had only become a taxi driver recently, not that he had any need to be, but his mother had wanted him to get a job. She'd figured that he had been lazing around the house with Bunny far too long, and he needed to get out of the house.

"McArthur Building. You know where that is?" Trent answered, absently tracing the number 9 on the window, focusing more on the quiet hum of the motor rather then his own thoughts. His thoughts were nothing to be thinking about right now.

"Course I do." D.J. replied as he pulled away from the curb. "My brother used to live there before he moved to Wisconsin." He said conversationally, the younger man seemed a little troubled, and D.J. figured it would be best to distract him. "Name's D.J. by the way."

"Trent." He paused for a second, debating whether or not to continue the conversation. Finally, he decided. "You ever get the feeling that you're meant to do something extraordinary?"

"Maybe." D.J. answered, a little surprised at where this conversation was going. "Some people are. Some people aren't. If you think you are, you probably will. Life's funny like that." There was a pause as the sky grew dark, and D.J. whistled and Trent sat, enraptured by the sky. "Will you look at that?"

"It's beautiful." D.J. murmured, and Trent smiled for a second, his headache gone and a sense of something special welling up in him.

"Yeah. It is."

As he looked out the window, something caught his eye. They were at the docks.

"Excuse me…" Trent trailed off when he realized they had stopped.

He tried the door. Locked.

"What are-" Trent was cut off as D.J. leaned over and injected a syringe into Trent's neck.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

And everything went black.

--

_Lindsay Bailey and Tyler Hunt_

The couple was perched on the roof of their hotel, Je t'aime, along with several other couples. Lindsay rested her head on Tyler's chest waiting quietly, for once, for the show of a lifetime.

The sky was already a beautiful shade of yellowish orange, and the city below seemed to be waiting with them. The sky began to darken and Lindsay grabbed the pinhole cameras waiting at Tyler's side, putting one up to her face, the other to Tyler's.

"Oh, Tiger, it's beautiful!" Lindsay exclaimed, snuggling up to her boyfriend's chest.

Tyler smiled and just held Lindsay closer.

--

_Izzy Montecito and Cody Marshall_

Cody lay on the ground, lazily watching the clouds pass by. The machines had long since stopped and now the two were just relaxing. Well, Cody was relaxing; Izzy was snaking in and out of the rungs on the drilling station's ladder, trying to see how well she could contort her body through things.

Though Cody was watching the clouds, there weren't actually that many. The sky was pretty much clear. Really, Cody was waiting for the eclipse.

There was nothing for a while but the sounds of Izzy trying to force her body into bending into shapes that it wouldn't let her, but suddenly those noises stopped, and the sky began to darken.

"Wowie!" Izzy breathed in amazement, suddenly appearing behind Cody. Cody, amazed by the sight himself, was inclined to agree with her.

--

_Noah King_

Noah sitting by a tree just outside of the school, Activating Evolution open in his hands cast an eye towards the darkening sky and smirked.

"About time." He muttered, and returned to his book.

--

_Gwen Grayson_

Gwen sat on a bench in the park, sketchbook in her lap, her eyes haunted with memories of dreams and memories of things to come. Her eyes danced over the drawings, every detail, and every little part of it.

She absorbed the picture of a young woman, younger than her, probably still in school, with fiery red hair and an equally fiery passion in her eyes standing triumphantly over the body of an unconscious (not dead, she knew he wasn't dead) man at her feet. A boy a little younger than the girl stood behind her, sporting a gap-toothed smile and a proud look in his eyes. Overhead, a large banner proclaiming Homecoming in large, friendly letters fluttered in the breeze.

A picture of a young man about her age, with intense green eyes and a thoughtful smile stared out at her. He was standing in the middle of a deserted street littered with papers and broken glass. He was holding his hand outstretched, beckoning to someone, inviting them.

She flipped the pages until she came to the one she had drawn last night. It was the woman of ice, of the unforgiving cold, with her calculating eyes and her empty smile. The picture where the walls were slowly being frozen, and were already splattered with blood. Closing her eyes, she banished the thoughts from her head, and turned the page.

It was a simple drawing, of one central thing, that meant so much. It was soft, yet powerful, a symbol of everything to come. It was the drawing of the eclipse. Of beginnings and of dawns. It was, Gwen realized as the sky above her began to darken, the start of everything.

"Gwen Grayson?" Gwen looked up to see a man, older than her, with a smile she immediately dismissed as fake. He was wearing an Armani suit that actually seemed to blend well with his green Mohawk. She had seen this man before; she had drawn this man before.

"I need you to come with me."

--

"_This quest, this need to solve life's mysteries—in the end, what does it matter when the human heart can only find meaning in the smallest of moments? They're here—among us. In the shadows, in the light, everywhere. Do they even know yet?"_

**End.**

_A/N: All right. Here's the first installment of TDI: Heroes. Here's a list of main characters, current locations and their ages so far. If they have a confirmed power, and if they do, what it is. Unknown means that they either have a power and we haven't heard of it yet, or I'm not telling if they have one or not._

_**New York City, NY**_

_Gwen Grayson, New York City, NY: 19, Precognitive Dreaming/Drawing_

_Trent Moretti, New York City, NY: 19, Sound Manipulation_

_Christopher Maclean, New York City, NY: 31, Unknown_

_Courtney Munroe, New York City, NY: 22, Unknown_

_Bethany Harris, New York City, NY: 26, None_

_Zeke McGovern, New York City, NY: 28, None_

_D.J. Daniels, New York City, NY: 26, None_

_Duncan Devon, New York City, NY: 24, Unknown_

_**Paris, France**_

_Lindsay Bailey, Paris, France: 22, Verbal Persuasion_

_Tyler Hunt, Paris, France: 23, Ability Immunity/Blocking_

_**Odessa, TX**_

_Izzy Montecito, Odessa, TX: 17, Telepathy_

_Cody Marshall, Odessa, TX: 16, Technopathy_

_**Costa Verde, CA**_

_Noah King, Costa Verde, CA: 17, Unknown_

_**TBS: (To Be Seen)**_

_Heather Marina, Las Vegas, NV: 29, Unknown_

_Leshawna Dawson, New Orleans, LA: 21, Unknown_

_Harold McGrady, Seattle, WA: 25, Unknown_

_Geoff Garrett, Odessa, TX: 27, Unknown_

_Bridgette Jones, Costa Verde, CA: 26, Unknown_

_Katie Cavanaugh, London, England: 17, Unknown_

_Sadie Cooper, London, England: 17, Unknown_

_Like it? Hate it? Mad that I haven't included your favorite character yet? Just press that button. Review, please?_


	2. Agents of Fortune

**Disclaimer: I do not own TDI. I am not making money off of this.**

_**TDI: Heroes**_

_**Agents of Fortune**_

"_In this world most people aren't lucky enough to survive without a steady stream of income. In other words, people need jobs if they want to live. Doing what you do in order to exist becomes routine. But in certain positions, to certain people, a job becomes a career, and a career becomes an obsession." Noah King_

_--_

_Trent Moretti _

_Unknown Location_

Beep. Beep. Beep.

It was dark, and he was tired. Incredibly tired. Unnaturally tired. He wanted to sleep, but he was forced awake by that noise, that incessant beeping. He blearily blinked his eyes open. He bolted up in the bed as he took in his surroundings.

He was in what looked like a hospital room, except grayer and more depressing, there was some kind of machine hooked up to him, and it was monitoring his heart rate, which explained the beeping. He was dressed in the clothes he had been wearing in the cab, which was funny. He had been expecting to be in one of those hospital gowns and tied up.

Suddenly, Trent picked up on footsteps and voices coming up the hallway towards the open door. One of the voices was kind of familiar. As the voices came closer Trent dove back under the covers and snapped his eyes closed, pretending to be asleep.

The voices became legible and Trent realized where he had heard it before, it was D.J. the taxi driver who (he assumed) brought him to this place!

"I mean, shouldn't he at least be tied up?" D.J. was at the door now, and Trent could feel his stare.

"No can do." This voice wasn't familiar, but it was in fact the voice of Duncan Devon, the agent who apprehended Gwen, and he was also D.J.'s partner. Trent decided to commit his voice to memory. "Bossman told us not to hurt him. Said that he would be out like a light either way. He's not gonna get up."

"You trust that freak?" D.J. asked, and Trent could feel the surprise in his voice. Okay, that freaked him out a little, just because he was actively trying to feed on their voices, didn't mean he had to acknowledge it.

"No way, but he knows this dude, at least." Trent imagined the other one was pointing his thumb at him. "Man, if he means this much to Bossman, I can't wait to clear him out."

"Speaking of, can we get started? I wanna get back home to Bunny."

Trent's eyes snapped open as he felt a hand moving towards his face.

--

_Geoff Garrett and Izzy Montecito_

_Burnt Toast Diner-Odessa, TX_

"Mornin' Isa!" The voice of the retired Texan, Eli James, stuck out sharply among the hustle and bustle of the Burnt Toast Diner, Home of Texas's best waffles.

"It's Izzy, Eli. Iz-zy." Izzy laughed as she rolled up to one of her favorite customers. She was wearing an apron with BURNT TOAST DINER printed on it in large, maroon lettering. The Burnt Toast Diner, Home of Texas's best waffles, wasn't a rolling diner, but Izzy wore them anyway. Even if roller skates shaped like bananas didn't exactly match with her uniform. "The usual, Eli?"

"You know me well, Isa." Eli smiled as Izzy rolled over to the next table where a blonde young man wearing a cowboy hat with a pink suit shirt and tie leaned in his chair lazily.

"Good mornin' what can I do for you today?" Izzy droned out the normal greeting, watching the young man, who quite obviously didn't belong in the Burnt Toast Diner, Home of Texas's best waffles.

"Just coffee." The young man, Geoff Garrett, replied, as he returned his chair to the ground and flashed Izzy a friendly smile.

"Alrighty." Izzy put on a fake cheerful southern accent for the man as she poured him a cup from her personal jug, on which she had plastered a sticker of an oddly adorable snake head. "You're not from around here are you?"

"Nope." Geoff replied cheerfully as he took a sip from his mug. "I'm just here on business."

"_And the sooner I bag and tag this Marshall kid, the sooner I can get back to Bridgette."_

Izzy's eyes widened in surprise for a second, and she rolled back a few feet into the counter, where she braced herself, breathing quickly.

"Are you okay?" Geoff looked at his waitress curiously.

"Yeah, yeah!" Izzy choked out. "I'm fine. Vertigo, you know? I get that sometimes. I just have to go lie down and I'll be fine! Sorry about that!" She rolled her way out through the kitchen, leaving Geoff in the diner.

Geoff smiled and flipped open a cell phone, dialing a number. After a few seconds someone picked up the other line.

"There's no doubt about it, dude." Geoff said quietly into the phone. "Izzy Montecito is one of us."

--

_Bridgette Jones_

_Costa Verde Public Library_

Mrs. Elena Thorpe had been the head librarian at the Costa Verde Public Library for twenty years. With all her experience, she had learned who looked like they fit in the library or not. She had learned that a single glance could tell you what someone's intentions were, if they were there to check out a book, to browse, to research, or something else.

So when a young blonde woman, dressed sharply in a business suit and aquamarine tie, with eyes that Helena knew was searching for something that certainly wasn't a book, walked through the doors of her library (it had been twenty years, she deserved to call it her library) she knew that it wouldn't be a normal day. Helena sized the woman up as she made her way towards the counter.

There was silence for a few seconds as Helena watched the woman, and the woman pretended to leaf through some fliers advertising an embroidery class being held in a week or so (Helena herself had taken this class herself a few years back) though Helena knew she was glancing at her out of the corner of her eye. Helena coughed impatiently and the woman cast a bright smile at Helena.

"What is it, young lady?" Helena asked brashly. "I've got quite a lot to do and very little time in which to do it, so please, make this quick."

The woman, obviously stunned by Helena's bluntless, and breathed for a second before regaining her composure. "I'm Bridgette. Bridgette Jones." Bridgette introduced herself politely, sending Helena a smile, which she ignored. "I'm here on behalf of the Marina Foundation."

"The Marina Foundation? What does a hotel chain want here?" Helena asked. She was quite suspicious, and for good reason. The Marina Foundation might have well have been called a gang for all the rather unsavory activities they were reportedly involved in.

"Oh, we're looking in on a…prospective employee." Bridgette answered pleasantly. "Noah King. I'm here to request his library records."

"Why would you need those if you want to hire him?"

"We always take very extensive background checks, ma'am."

Helena's eyes narrowed, but she couldn't argue with the Marina Foundation. Begrudgingly, she called up the records and sent them to print.

"It's done. The printer's over there by the computers."

"Thank you. I'm sure Ms. Marina will be very pleased to know you've been so cooperative." Helena smiled as Bridgette grabbed the documents and moved to make her way out."

"Oh, I'm sure she will," Helena replied as Bridgette passed by the front desk. She had a smile on her face that quickly melted as soon as the younger woman slipped out the doors.

"Oh, Noah," Helena said softly. "What have you gotten into now?"

--

--

_Gwen Grayson_

_Unknown Location_

_New York City. Her home. But it wasn't. It was empty. Cars were abandoned in the streets, papers floated in the wind. Three stood out._

_WANTED-TRENT MORETTI. It was that man in the picture, with the thoughtful smile and the bright green eyes. His name was Trent. It was familiar._

_A newspaper. Folded up, tattered. She grabbed it. LAS VEGAS COVERED IN ICE-MILLIONS DEAD. _

_The last one. EVACUATION NOTICE-NEW YORK CITY._

_The dream changed. New York again. Kirby Plaza._

_There was Trent. He was worried, yelling. For her? _

_A beautiful young woman with blonde hair was desperately dragging an unconscious young man over her shoulder. She was running. She was crying._

_The girl and the boy from Homecoming. They were running too. She was excited. He was afraid._

_Then, it was cold. The ice came. And she saw no more._

Gwen's eyes snapped open, clouded and white. She looked around rapidly, breathing heavily.

"Looking for this?" A woman's voice came, and the sketchpad flew towards her.

"Sweet dreams, little goth girl." The door closed, and Gwen kept on drawing.

--

_Unknown_

"I propose we send Agents Cavanaugh and Cooper here."

"New Orleans? Aren't we tracking someone there?"

"Yes, but right now she's still human. She hasn't exhibited any abilities yet."

"Then why New Orleans?"

"The Grayson girl drew a friend of ours heading there sometime in the future."

"You think we can rely on her?"

"God no. But her drawings have been accurate this far, let's see where they take us?"

"You gambling? Isn't that a little ironic?"

"No. Not at all. You just don't understand irony."

"I understand enough."

"Just stand there and look pretty and we'll take care of the rest."

"You think I'm pretty?"

"It's a figure of speech."

"Oh. Okay."

"Shut up you two. So are we agreed?"

"Sure."

"Whatever you say."

"All right! Operation: Thunderbird is a go!"

"…"

"Operation: Thunderbird?"

"Why do we even keep him around?"

"His ability's useful…for now."

--

"_Careers. Obsessions. Secrets. Intrigue. In the end, those are all just means to an end. In the end, we are all bound to one thing. We are all bound to the wheel of fate, and all we have to do, is wait for it to start turning."-Noah King_

**End.**


End file.
